“Red Scare” ~ New Orleans, Louisiana © 2010 Skip Hunt
Beginning with “Tavira • Orange”… I’m submitting this series of images I made in the small fishing village of Tavira, Portugal in October of 2003. The intention is to paint a broader stroke with a series and companion prose to convey more a sense of overall texture and “place”.
I hope you enjoy this series as much as I enjoyed creating it.
(Tavira • Orange)
I’d just left Seville and decided to stop off for a couple days in Portugal’s tail end. After a good nap on the bus, we pulled into Tavira. Someone had said it was a quaint enough place so I thought I’d check her out.
There’s no train station in Tavira and buses don’t stop there that often. So, after peering out of the little round bus depot and not seeing much in the way of humanity… I thought I’d just get on the next bus and keep going.
That is, until I learned there weren’t any more buses until much later… so I decided to take a walk, grab an espresso, and see if there was anything pulling me to say a bit longer.
Turns out, Tavira is a very odd place. It’s not big, and most of the day you see almost no one, except the occassional napping old napping fisherman. It feels almost like a ghost town there. Still… I could feel “something” in the air. Like ghosts whispering to each other and questioning who the stranger might be. I felt enough of something I can’ t put my finger on, that I decided to take a room for a couple days.
I’m glad I did. Tavira is full of spirits and texure… and the average glass of Port wasn’t too bad either.(Travessa • Lisboa)
Tavira’s a quaint, but eerie fishing village. Or, was once one. But, it’s divided by a rocky inlet and you cross from Old Tavira to New Tavira over a 13th century Roman bridge. Honestly, I couldn’t tell much difference between the Old and the New. Both looked old and worn to me.
Perplexed as to where all the people went, I crossed the footbridge over to the New town. It felt just as vacant as the Old side, but perhaps the “spirits” felt a wee bit more lively.
After wandering most of the New town for a couple hours, I spotted what looked like somone peering out at me through this rounded tiled house. I hesitated to see who’d pulled the curtain aside, but noticed there was no one there…(Tavira • Ajar)
The uneasiness felt when you’re in a town thick with perceptable ghost residue and haven’t seen a soul by midmorning… leaves you with a hunger for any sort of man-made sound or evidence.
The wind whipped about the shutters and debris but was discernable in it’s random qualities. I picked out one sound with a pattern that sounded like someone hammering near the marina and eagerly made my way in that direction. As the pounding intensified, my imagination wandered to images of old Portuguese fishermen… scraping and pounding on old boats too far past their prime.
It was difficult to pinpoint just exactly where the pounding was coming from because it echoed a bit. After a few misturns, I located the source and rounded the last corner anticipating local company… no one was there. Just a marina metal door ajar in the wind… tapping out a pattern of constant metallic hammering… as if to mock me.(Tavira • Crumble)
A crumbled fisherman’s fado whistled inbetween the crooked cracks and broken bits. I wondered when and why this cozy abode fell to time… where the inhabitants had drifte away to… where the two small and gnarled fingers slipped away to…
Drawn to the elegant decay, I studied the visual melody until something caught my eye. It looked as if two weathered fingers poked out through the opening in the door frame. They wiggled briefly and they were gone. I waited for a body or hands to emerge from the rubble, but there was nothing… only the whisper of brightly sticky breeze.
Was it just some bits of debris caught in the wind? Just my imagination? Or, did “they” toy with the idea of showing themselves to the curious stranger?…(Tavira • Battalion)
Caked from ages of sea crust, the Tavira floater battalion readied themselves for the fishing voyage that would never be. They wait patiently… enduring the crystaline rains, and withering winds… with ancient dreams never to be fulfilled.(Tavira • Curve)
Dropped down from rounding the bleached, windowless cathedral… as I began my descent from the towns peak, I could see evidence of modern life… tiny television ariels in the distance reassured me there were at least recent inhabintants. But, where were they?
I hadn’t seen a soul for nearly half the day. Seen and heard evidence was there, but nothing material. Did they really slumber until mid-day? Or, did they leave the town to the spirit’s pleasure until they’d tired of roaming?
Still a stranger in a small town, I had no established routes yet… this curve looked an inviting proposition to continue my quest.(Tavira • Web)
Caught and enrapt by Tavira’s ancient and mysterious net of intrigue… my soul ended the search for meaning. Unraveled by unanswered questions that permeated the foreigner, his spirit joined with those who’d been there before and lingered.
Comfortably lodged within the web of the unknown, he was content to join the textural carcasses of days gone by… surrender…. and meld within the seductive web of wonder.
All Images made in Tavira, Portugal Oct. 2003 © 2010 Skip Hunt
At times I have to try and shut off the fact that there is so much art occurring randomly nearly everywhere I look. It gets a bit distracting and more difficult to pay any attention to all of those humans making noise for no other reason than to… well, make noise.
I think I’ll just tune them out again and keep on looking at all of the chaotic art forming naturally all around us.
This one was taken in a seedy alley on the Mexican side of the border in Nuevo Laredo. It’s a portion of wall where vatos were testing different colors of paint before apply it to their cars. By now, this spot has already been painted over and a completely new piece in it’s place. Glad I saved this one. :-)
“Mystic Derby” ~ Nuevo Laredo, Mexico © 2009 Skip Hunt
From my Skip Hunt Vagabond travel blog.
Also, included in my new Calendar “Skip Hunt Vagabond :: Mexico 2009 :: Volume Five”
“Take This Brother” ~ Shot this just before crossing the border back into Texas from Mexico in Nuevo Laredo during my recently completed journey in Mexico on a motorcycle travelblog Skip Hunt Vagabond
© 2009 Skip Hunt
My driver had advised I not tell anyone I was American. The U.S. was about to begin bombing Afghanistan, and the Rajasthani city was only 50 clicks from the Pakastani border and had a large Muslim community. Mr. Balbir, pleaded with me…”The Ambassador Taxi isn’t mine… It belongs to my uncle and we can’t have any trouble Mr. Skip… Please! Just tell them you’re Canadian… they won’t know the difference. I can’t have anything happen to the car…”
I promised Mr. Balbir I would comply and assured him I wasn’t a big fan of “trouble” either. Still… it was so hot and one of the bigger hotels with a pool would let you swim all afternoon for just 50 rupees. And, since it was only around 3 weeks since the September 11th attacks, I would have the entire pool to myself.
I made my way from my boiling dusty guesthouse toward the hotel… just for a couple hours relief from the intense heat. As I passed through one of the Muslim neighborhoods along the way… the rusty loudspeakers fired up with very intense Arabic announcements. To a non-native speaker, Arabic can sound fairly agressive even if it’s a benign weather report, or a routine call to prayer. This time there was no guessing. It had started and the American bombs were beginning to fall. It was pure rage rattling from the little neighborhood loudspeakers and the locals were starting to glare at my obvious “American” stature with distain… all I could do was try not to make eye contact and keep moving.
I still had a good 30 minutes left to walk, but I just kept walking. That is, until a small group of Muslim boys surrounded me and started shouting in Arabic. I tried to just push past them, but they began hitting me with their little fists and kicking at my legs. I just took it for the first few blows, but decided I’d try and scare the little buggers off. I looked around for a good sized stone and lifted it. The boys dared me to throw it at them, and then I noticed the Muslim men who were previously smirking with approval at the attack, were now “daring” me to give them any excuse… I tossed the stone aside, took a few more blows, and just kept walking.
As soon as I was out of sight, I noticed one of the old stone-carved houses was open, so I ducked in for a little refuge until the mayhem subsided. I took this photo in the stone home, but all I can remember was being terrified that World War III had just started, and all I could think about was getting to that pool for a cooling dip.
“Jaisalmer Refuge” ~ Jaisalmer, India © Skip Hunt ~ http://skiphunt.carbonmade.com
I’ve watched you, sealed from within… I’ve weathered unseen tragedy, and begged for my eyes to be taken out… I rejoiced the end of my sight as the juvenile stone was cast into my shattering eyes…
Embraced the decay… my frame rotted and loosed at the sockets, and still you insist I go on as your witness…
How much must I endure before you finally let me go?
“Tavira Porthole” ~ Tavira, Portugal © Skip Hunt ~ http://skiphunt.carbonmade.com
For eons, our countless incarnations hungered for the soothing gaze of the grand designer…
behold.
“Blind Eye of God Sees All” ~ Thailand © Skip Hunt ~ http://skiphunt.carbonmade.com
This composite was created using an old image I’d shot in Oaxaca, Mexico about 13 years ago and an old light bulb at a friend’s neon shop. The strange thing about this bit of detail and texture is that I was recently in Oaxaca again and went to this same corner. All around the architecture had either been replaced or covered up with some new material. Except this one small corner was left still exposed and beckoning for someone to know it’s story.
“Bright Idea” ~ Oaxaca, Mexico & Austin, Texas 2005 © Skip Hunt ~ http://skiphunt.carbonmade.com
I don’t know if there’s a “great designer” of our reality or not. Or, if our individual realities are created by each of us. What fascinates me though… and, why I love to fine natural compostions in a state of decay… is that it somehow implies that there might just be a Great Spirit, Divine Energy Force, or God. And if so… SHE is most certainly a VERY fine artist indeed.
“The River”~ Austin, Texas 2007 © Skip Hunt ~ http://skiphunt.carbonmade.com
Often I’ll see a bit of detail here or there and think to myself “If I painted, that’s exactly what I’d paint…” usually, some bit of abstract texture I’ll see that just happened to coalesce into a natural composition with just the right balance of texture and color.
I found this one in the window of an abandoned store front in Cape Town, South Africa 2007.
“Yesteryear” ~ Cape Town, South Africa © http://skiphunt.carbonmade.com
What an ill behaved little brat Simon had become with no qualified chaperone to terminate his mischief as he gleefully sliced away at the 9th and 13th most forbidden layers…
Everyone knew all too well that it was futile to prohibit the dreadful hooligan’s dimensional romps…
Who could have known that it would all end with the resplendent discovery of the previously mythical Flor de Oaxaca!
“Flor de Oaxaca” ~ Wall flower in Oaxaca, Mexico. May 2008 ~ http://skiphunt.carbonmade.com
